Don't Come Here Often Then?
by JustCaz
Summary: Mycroft Holmes is not one to frequent bars. Or to go home with the utterly charming punk who isn't at all what he first appears to be. However, he is incredibly glad that he did.
1. Chapter 1

**So, yet more Mystrade my friends! :D I have just returned from a ten-day school trip to Israel, and seeing as wifi was scarce, I wrote a lot to pass the time on the planes and coach. **

**One of my major headcanons for Greg is, as it probably also is for a lot of people, PunkStrade, so I have acted upon that headcanon and have written this. It will be continued, so don't worry, and the second chapter is already half finished. (Yeah, there was a lot of time to pass.) Hope you enjoy!**

* * *

Mycroft walked cautiously down the darkening street, wary of the kind of people who frequented such a place. Of course, if it were up to him, he wouldn't be here at all, but, as was the social nicety, he could not refuse Anthea's invitation to go out for drinks in one of her favourite bars that evening.

He approached the entrance to the building in question, and wrinkled his nose at the strong smell of cigarette smoke that accosted him. Music blared from inside the building, and none that he was at all familiar with, only serving to add to his trepidation. Mycroft scanned the room, searching for his friend. _Ah, there she is._ He thought to himself, slightly relieved that he had spotted her so easily. Anthea was sat on a stool by the bar, chatting with one of the young barmen, her back turned towards the entrance.

Mycroft walked over to the bar, conscious not to make eye contact with any of the far too loud to be decent people who occupied the establishment. He hadn't realised, when the outing was suggested, that Anthea's taste would be quite so...punk. Everybody there was dressed in such a way as to make Mycroft uneasy, with their studded leather jackets, piercings everywhere, ripped clothing in all sorts of places, and oh, did that man's hair really need to be spiked so ridiculously?

Feeling utterly out of place, and increasingly nervous, Mycroft tapped Anthea on her shoulder, glad when she turned around and beamed at him.

"Myc, I didn't think you'd turn up! So, what're you having?" She asked, giving him no time to sit down or even contemplate what would pass as adequate to drink here.

"I will have whatever you are having, my dear." He replied, pulling out a barstool and sitting next to his friend.

The bartender gave Mycroft an odd once-over. "I take it you don't come here often?"

"Obviously not." He answered curtly, accepting the pint of lager the man handed to him. He tentatively took a sip, his brow furrowing at the taste, and swallowed grimly.

Anthea laughed, frowning at Mycroft good-naturedly. "I said dress _casual_, Myc." She said, tugging at his jacket's lapel.

"This _is_ casual!" He said defensively, folding his hands in his lap. "This is my _tweed_ suit, Anthea, _and_ I have forgone a tie!"

"Well, it'll have to do, but don't blame me if you get any trouble. The guys here are kind of rowdy." She explained, glancing around.

"Yes, quite." Mycroft agreed, seeing the many people jumping and shouting rather violently at the far end of the room, crowding the live band that were playing just as enthusiastically.

"Oy, Anth." The barman said, leaning in conspiratorially. "Over there, look. She's been staring at you for ages now." Mycroft turned to have a look, and, sure enough, a tall blonde woman was not so subtly eyeing up his friend.

"Hm, so she has." Anthea mused, smirking at the woman from across the room. "I'll be back in a bit, don't go anywhere." She said, before weaving her way through the crowd to get to the interested party.

_And where exactly would I go?_ Mycroft thought to himself sarcastically, drumming his fingertips on the wooden bar. He stayed there for a good few minutes, checking his watch now and again only to see that time was passing glacially.

"What's a pretty posh thing like you doing all alone in a place like this?" An unfamiliar but deliciously rough voice asked from behind him. Mycroft swivelled round on his stool, only to be met with surely the most attractive man he had ever laid eyes upon. Really, he was simply stunning, and Mycroft found himself lost for a moment in his deep brown eyes. _And oh! Did he really call me pretty?_

"I am not alone." He replied, glancing across the room to find Anthea and the woman thoroughly...involved. "My companion is simply preoccupied at the moment."

The all too handsome stranger followed his gaze, laughing an_ absolutely gorgeous_ _laugh_ at Anthea's predicament. "Looks like she'll be _preoccupied_ for quite a while, so how about you and me get to know each other a little better? Greg Lestrade." He said, thrusting his hand forward, presumably for Mycroft to shake.

"You and I." Mycroft corrected.

"Huh?" The newly named Greg replied.

"You and _I_ should get to know each other a little better." He repeated, watching the realisation dawn in those truly magnificent eyes.

Greg grinned, a boyish, crooked, and utterly charming grin. "Glad we're on the same page." He said with a wink, pulling a stool between his rather lovely legs, dropping down to sit in front of Mycroft. "Let me buy you a drink." Greg offered.

"I already have one, thank you." Mycroft replied politely, holding up his practically untouched pint. Greg just raised an eyebrow and shrugged his shoulders, relenting.

"So, you got a name or what?" Greg asked, running his fingers through his tousled hair a few times, only serving to make it more disorderly.

"Mycroft Holmes." He answered with a smile.

"Not heard that one before." Greg replied, with an amused quirk of his lips.

"Creative mother." Mycroft said in way of an explanation.

"Ha, wish I could say the same. At least yours isn't the same as a million other common gits."

Mycroft frowned, wondering how this frankly beautiful man could ever think himself any less than unique. "Your name holds no baring over your influence in this world, Gregory."

Greg grinned again, something that Mycroft was already growing rather fond of, and said, "S'pose not. Only my mum calls me Gregory, you know." He said with a laugh.

"Well I prefer it." Mycroft said, raising an eyebrow, as if challenging him to question it.

"Alright, alright, call me whatever you want." Greg said.

"Anything?" Mycroft smirked.

Greg leaned in, "Anything." He said, with a decidedly flirtatious tone to his voice.

And before Mycroft could filter his thoughts, his completely inexperienced brain decided to tell his mouth to blurt out, "So you think I'm pretty?"

Thankfully, he managed to school his features into a passable expression of nonchalance, acting like he had meant to say something so forward.

"Oh yeah. I think I've got a thing for redheads." Greg replied with another amused look.

"Well that's a relief," Mycroft said, "because I am..._obscenely_ ginger." He finished with a sigh.

"Don't say it like it's a bad thing, you're so hot." He said, biting his lip coyly.

"Ah, y- yes, well." Mycroft stuttered, not used to the blatant compliments. "So are you." He brushed back a stray curl that refused to stay in place, that kept falling stubbornly over his forehead.

"Why thank you." Greg said graciously, and then, much to Mycroft's shock, reached out and took his hand in his own, slowly and gently pulling it away from his head and held it between them. "No, don't; I like it." He said sincerely.

"Oh." Mycroft said, as his entire vocabulary seemed to have deserted him. After he had gathered his wits about him, he managed to form a more intelligent response. "You are not as you appear to be, Gregory Lestrade."

This provoked yet another glorious smile from his new companion, and Mycroft found himself wanting more and more to be the cause of that smile.

"We're not all aggressively rebellious anarchists, you know." He said, pretending to be offended.

"You've certainly proven as much. However, I am surprised by the lack of metal adorning your face, considering the amount that others are wearing."

"That, my friend, is because it's detrimental to have visible piercings when one is working their way up the police force."

Mycroft raised his eyebrows slightly, happy that Gregory had a proper career planned for his future.

"Detective Constable, I'll have you know." He clarified. "So, you know, I got a nice set of handcuffs if you're into that kind of thing." He added with a positively lascivious wink.

Mycroft was once again taken aback by Greg's words, and they caused him to blush high on his cheeks, and the tips of his ears flushed red.

"I'll take that as a yes then." Greg said mischievously.

"I, er, well." Mycroft began, attempting to defend himself, and a certain few of his fantasies.

"I'm just teasing." Greg assured him. "What do you do? I expect it's something important given your...everything." He finished with a laugh.

"I am a civil servant." Mycroft answered, reluctant to expand on that point. It was not wise to discuss his work, no matter how charming the inquirer.

"Bit vague. Can't tell me anything else? You're not a secret agent or anything, are you?" He said, but looked as though he was not entirely joking.

Mycroft rolled his eyes, smiling wryly at how his guess was not so far off. "I occupy a minor position in the British Government." He explained, eschewing any actual expansion on the topic.

"Minor my arse! I bet you're the one who sits in an office all day approving all the major decisions affecting the rest of the world."

Mycroft smiled, brushing off the idea with his forced-nonchalant body language.

"Yeah," Greg continued, with a terribly obvious once-over of Mycroft's body, "you're no where near rough around the edges enough to be doing regular field work."

"I'll take that as a compliment." Mycroft said, taking another sip of his awful beverage. He honestly did not understand how Anthea, and seemingly the rest of the world his age, could enjoy such a ghastly drink.

"Good. Because it was damn well intended as one. You really are stunning." He said, almost wistfully, and Mycroft felt his heart race. Nobody had ever payed this kind of attention to him before, and for him to be lucky enough for that person to be Gregory Lestrade who finally did; well, he was joyous.

"I..." And utterly lost for words. "I'm sorry, Gregory, but I am unused to such compliments directed towards me."

Gregory looked shocked, though Mycroft could not at all fathom why. "Seriously? No way. But you're- You know what? Come back to mine, and I'll pay you all the compliments in the world." He promised sincerely.

Mycroft couldn't believe his luck; this perfect being actually wanted to be with him, even if it was only for one night.

"Now? Do you not wish to exchange contacts, or...?"

"No, no, we can do that after." Greg said with another sinful grin, standing up and grabbing Mycroft's hand, pulling him up too.

"Sorry, after what?" Mycroft asked, unsure of what the protocol was when going to the home of somebody you just met, who also happens to be a possible love interest.

"Well, you know. We could..._get to know each other a little better._" Greg suggested, exaggerating the words, shouting to be heard over the music, but refusing to meet Mycroft's eyes.

Why Gregory was acting shyly, Mycroft didn't know, but he tried to calm this sudden onset of nerves by agreeing certainly.

"Yes, yes, that sounds wonderful." He said, nodding his head so that Greg understood over the din of the music. Even if it was a little short notice, he would accept any reason to prolong being in Gregory's company.

"Great!" Greg proclaimed, and began to weave his way through the mass of dancing and jumping bodies, tugging Mycroft along behind him.

They reached the exit to the stifling building, and were about to leave when Anthea spotted them over her new friend's shoulder.

"Myc! Mycroft!" She called, excusing herself from the woman's arms and making her way over to them.

Mycroft turned at the sound of his name, telling Greg to wait for a moment.

"Mycroft, who's this?" Anthea asked, a clearly amused look painting her features.

"Oh, yes, of course. This is Gregory Lestrade." He gestured to the man who still had his fingers intertwined with his. Greg nodded his head in greeting.

"Right..." She said dubiously. "And what, exactly, are you doing with Gregory?"

Mycroft gave Anthea his best condescending look, and replied, "Gregory simply suggested that we go back to his home, that is all." He explained.

Anthea only raised her eyebrows, conveying her disbelief in a look.

"What?" Mycroft snapped hotly, crossing his arms over his chest and raising his chin in defiance.

"Just didn't think you were type, that's all." She said coolly, but the amused expression had returned in full force.

Mycroft scowled at Anthea, hiding the fact that he had no idea why she was so opposed to him doing what she did on a regular basis. _Perhaps she is simply jealous that I have managed to attract the most handsome man here, on her territory._ He thought to himself.

"Come Gregory, we're leaving." Mycroft all but commanded, pushing open the door and stepping out into the chill night air, Gregory following eagerly after him.


	2. Chapter 2

Greg laughed loudly as they both tumbled from the bar, grabbing Mycroft's hands and pulling him in close. He wrapped his arms around Mycroft's waist, tugging him tight against his own body.

Mycroft gasped, but soon relaxed and placed his palms over Greg's studded shoulders.

"Hello." He said quietly, as he realised just how close they were to each other.

"Hello." Greg replied, as he ever so slowly, ever so gently, leaned up and pressed his lips to Mycroft's.

It was like the world around them had disappeared. It was just the two of them, him and Gregory inside their own little bubble of bliss, with only the musky scent of his skin, the feel of his leather jacket against his fingertips, and the touch of his soft, warm lips occupying Mycroft's mind. The kiss soon grew passionate, with Greg's tongue swiping along Mycroft's lower lip, begging entrance, which was eagerly granted with a deep moan. Mycroft threaded his fingers up into Greg's thick, dark hair, tugging experimentally, eliciting a veritable growl from his partner.

Only when their lungs burned for air did they break away, and Mycroft could do nothing more than gaze into Greg's eyes, wondering how on Earth he became so lucky.

"So, d'you wanna go back to mine?" Greg asked, his thumb tracing circles on Mycroft's waist.

"I think that would be most satisfactory." He replied breathlessly, causing Greg to let out an equally breathless laugh.

"What?" Mycroft asked, the edges of insecurity beginning to creep in.

"Nothing, just...most satisfactory? I love the way you speak."

"Ah, yes, perhaps I am a little more varied in my vocabulary, and perhaps my dialect is a little more sophisticated, but you shouldn't let it worry you, Gregory."

"Ooh, talk dirty to me." Greg said, biting his lip and groaning obscenely.

"Stop it." Mycroft said with a scowl.

"Why should I? This is what you do to me, Mycroft Holmes." He whispered, as he shamelessly ground his obvious arousal against Mycroft's thigh.

"Gregory, you must desist; we are public." He hissed, at least trying to sound like he wanted him to stop.

"Oh, alright, spoilsport." Greg relented, stepping back from the flustered man. "Besides, I don't want anyone else to see you all hot and bothered like this apart from me." He added into Mycroft's ear.

And with that completely disarming comment, Greg walked to the edge of the pavement and hailed a cab, as naturally as if he wasn't sporting a raging hard-on.

* * *

They travelled in the back of the cab in uncomfortable silence. Not because of any awkward reservations, no, but because of the very palpable tension between them, and the increasingly unbearable way that Mycroft's erection strained against his suit trousers.

That is why, as soon as Greg had unlocked the door to his flat, they practically dove for each other, grabbing at clothes and hair and limbs, lips crushing together in a hard, desperate frenzy.

Mycroft found himself being shoved against the nearest wall, Greg's hands reaching up to push his suit jacket down his shoulders. He could only return the favour, pulling Greg's leather jacket from his broad frame.

"Yes." Greg grunted, as he grasped the back of Mycroft's neck and continued to kiss him ferociously.

Mycroft returned the kiss with equal fervour, their tongues wrestling for dominance, which he eventually gave over to his partner when he began to grind his hips against his.

Mycroft let out a long keening sound, the sensations almost becoming too much for his over-heated, over-sensitised body.

"God, Mycroft." Greg moaned into the side of his long neck, as he began placing open-mouthed kisses over the pale expanse of unmarked skin.

"Gregory!" Mycroft said, as Greg bit sharply into his freckled neck, then ran his tongue over the bright bruise that began to form.

"Like that?" Greg asked, as his lips moved lower.

"A-ah!" Mycroft gasped out, as another red mark was placed upon his collarbone. Greg was not wrong, he certainly liked it, but it was all becoming a little too much. Maybe they could take things a little slower? I'm sure Gregory wouldn't mind. He had remembered to mention that he was a virgin, yes?

And then he was overwhelmed. The heat. The closeness. The insistent way in which Gregory was now undoing his trousers and- "No!" Mycroft pushed Greg away and held him at arms' length, with a vice like grip on his biceps.

Greg moved back from Mycroft quickly, aware of giving the man his personal space. "I'm sorry, I got carried away. Sorry. I shouldn't have assumed; I forget not everyone's a biter." He apologised rapidly, his head bowed.

Mycroft took a few deep breaths, gathering himself. "No, it's, it's not that." He assured, not wanting to discourage him.

"Then what's wrong?" Greg asked, appearing to be genuinely concerned.

"I..." Mycroft began, unsure of how to explain himself. "I have never...I have never done this before." He admitted, gesturing between the two of them.

"Oh." Greg said, glancing at Mycroft with evident surprise. "Well, I suppose having sex with a guy isn't too different than with a woman. Tab A still goes into Slot B and all that, so-" Greg was cut off by the severe shaking of Mycroft's head.

"No, no. I mean... I have never done...anything, before." He confessed, focussing his eyes on the floor, unable to look up and see Gregory no doubt laughing at his pathetic lack of sexual experience, or the disgust that was also no doubt present upon learning of his predicament.

"Oh...Mycroft."

Mycroft looked back up at Greg, taken aback by the gentle tone of his voice.

Greg reached out, and, carefully, as if trying not to frighten a skittish animal, he held Mycroft's hands in his. "You should have...should've said something, Mycroft."

"I did not want to seem undesirable. Inexperience is surely a negative quality in a sexual partner, I..." He began, but was silenced my the firm press of Greg's lips upon his.

He moved away after a moment, making sure to convey how wrong Mycroft was in his next words. "Undesirable? Being a virgin isn't going to make you undesirable, Mycroft. It is _unbelievably_ _desirable_, to know that I'm your first. The first to touch you...the first to _claim_ you... The first to make you _scream_ when you come, and all because of me." He said, his voice pitched low and rough.

Mycroft whimpered, Greg's words affecting him rather a lot.

"But not tonight." Greg said, moving away from Mycroft again.

Mycroft frowned and pulled Greg back towards him. "Why not?" He asked petulantly.

"Because anybody's first time needs to be special, not just some...quick shag with a guy you barely know." Greg explained, leading Mycroft towards his sofa. They sat down, hands still joined together.

"I do not barely know you. You barely know me." Mycroft clarified.

"Oh yeah?" Greg laughed, that incredulous grin lighting up his face once again. "What do you know about me?"

"I know you are Gregory Emile Lestrade, you are twenty-two years old, you are English, but your...father, is French, and he runs a quaint little restaurant around Camden Lock. I also know you are the youngest brother of three, and have recently ended a long-term relationship with a girlfriend who cheated on you...four times?"

Greg simply sat there, staring at the man who had just listed off his life as though he had known him for years. "How did you..." He questioned, trailing off.

"Observation. Family photos, take-away boxes and the like." Mycroft answered plainly, leaving it at that.

"Right. And it was three times, for the record." Greg defended.

Mycroft only gave him a look, and said, "We both know it was four."

Greg shuffled back on the sofa, crossing his legs. "Alright, there's no need to point it out."

"My apologies. I hadn't realised it was still a sore subject."

"It's alright. She was a bitch. But, back to you." He squeezed Mycroft's hands, making sure he had his full attention. "I... How should I say this without sounding like a total idiot? Look, I may have had a few to drink, and yeah, I was going home tonight hoping for a one night stand with a seriously hot bloke I met at a bar, but I really like you, Mycroft. I mean, I don't just find you ridiculously attractive, but you're interesting as well, and now that I know you've never... I would really like to get to know you a little better. And not in that sense." He added, at Mycroft's small, mischievous smile. "I don't just want a slutty fling with you anymore, I want to make it special for you, because... even though I barely know you, I _want_ to know you." He waited for Mycroft to respond, looking at him hopefully.

"That is to say..." Mycroft began, trying to figure out the meaning of Greg's words, and then decide if that is what he wanted too. "You would like...what I would like."

"If that makes sense. I really would like to get to get to know you, Mycroft; do things properly." Greg said.

"And I you." Mycroft agreed. He had no idea how this had changed from a one night stand to the tender beginnings of a fledgling relationship, but he was desperately glad that it had. "I should...here." He said, picking up his crumpled suit jacket from where it lay on the floor, and retrieved a card from one of the inner pockets. On it was simply his name and a number; no title, no job description, just the number.

"Ooh, you are mysterious." Greg said, taking the card and pocketing it in his tight black jeans. "Let me give you mine, just a sec." He hopped up and made his way over to the small kitchen area that was adjoined to his living room, and took out some paper and a pen, jotting down his phone number. "There you go." He handed over the paper to Mycroft, who also pocketed it in his trousers.

"Well." Mycroft said, relief leaving him fairly silenced.

"Well." Greg repeated, a broad grin back on his face. "Seeing as we're no longer going to have sex, and it is," He checked his watch, "around half past midnight, would you like me to call a cab, or would you rather stay the night?" He asked kindly.

"That won't be necessary, thank you. I have a driver." Mycroft replied.

"Of course you do." Greg said, shaking his head in disbelief. Only he could manage to pull the richest, poshest guy there, naturally the complete background-opposite to himself. "When can I see you again?" He asked, trying not to sound like a fucking romcom cliché.

"I am afraid I cannot tell you for certain, Gregory. I have a rather busy schedule, what with my work, and my brother." He said with a grimace.

"You have a brother? Hey, that's something we have in common, except I have two. How old is he?" Greg asked.

"Twelve. Sherlock is...difficult, you see, and so my spare time is mostly consumed by looking after him and convincing his headmaster not to expel him yet again."

"Ah, another creative name!" Greg exclaimed, childish glee evident in his expression.

"Yes, quite." Mycroft said, feeling a fondness for that youthful streak in Gregory's personality. "I'm sure you will meet him soon enough, and then you will not be in such an agreeable mood." He warned.

"Come on, he can't be that bad! He's not a little psychopath or anything, no worries."

"No, but he has recently taken to labelling himself as a high functioning sociopath." Mycroft mused.

"So he's a bit of an odd one. He'll love me, all kids love me." Greg promised with a charming smile.

"Sherlock is not 'all kids.'" Mycroft said, before letting out an unexpected yawn. "Hm, it is getting rather late, perhaps I should head home." He quickly texted his driver, Greg presumed, then glanced back up with a smile. "I had a wonderful time, Gregory, even if I was painfully awkward."

"Nah, you were adorable." Greg replied.

Mycroft raised an eyebrow. "Adorable? Me? I fear you are mistaken." He insisted.

"Not at all. You were so sure of yourself at the bar, but as soon as I started paying you compliments you got all flustered and it. Was. Adorable. I just can't believe you're so unused to the attention is all."

"It is one of life's great mysteries, and one for which the answer is forever unknown. Ah, Frederick has arrived." He said, as his phone vibrated.

"That was quick." Greg commented, clearly impressed.

"We are efficient." Mycroft replied.

They made their way out of the door to Greg's flat, and stood on the front steps for a moment to say their goodbyes.

"I _really_ want to see you again." Greg said, as he placed his arms around Mycroft's waist. "Promise me you'll find time. Even with your busy schedule." He said cheekily.

"I shall endeavour to, Gregory." Mycroft answered, as he leaned down to initiate a sweet, chaste, goodbye kiss.

Greg hummed into the kiss, and squeezed his arms around Mycroft's tall frame. "Alright. Goodbye, Mycroft." He finally let go of the younger man, allowing him to walk down to the black car idling by the curb.

"Until next time." Mycroft said, before he climbed into his awaiting vehicle.

* * *

Mycroft smiled to himself the entire journey home, only ceasing to look like a love-sick puppy when he fell into a peaceful slumber, and all thoughts of Gregory Lestrade chased him into his dreams.

Greg was much the same, his infectious, wistful grin not leaving his face until he too had fallen asleep, the enigmatic man he had met at the bar the subject of his mind's unconscious wanderings.


End file.
